


And if I'm given the chance to be a doll in his hands

by Plexus (toitsu)



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Mute!Corvo - Freeform, dashing sailor Samuel, i like to believe people of serkonos are darker skinned than they appear in game, jailbait Corvo, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 05:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toitsu/pseuds/Plexus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At noon he finds a boy sitting by the well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And if I'm given the chance to be a doll in his hands

**Author's Note:**

> fill for anon prompt over on tumblr; they asked for some Samuel/Corvo. i delivered.
> 
> this is not graphic and NOT non-con, but there IS a pretty big age difference: Samuel in his forties, Corvo 17-18. just so you know.
> 
> title from 'The boys are too refined' by The Hush Sound

i.

The voyage has not been that long nor eventful but there are cries of relief when at dawn they spot lights of Karnaca port. _I can smell it,_ some claim, _the figs, the town, the perfumes of women._

Samuel smiles at that; the city is too far for something like scents to carry, and they have wind in their backs besides. But, well. He has also been young once, and the sight of Karnaca is still a welcome one.

i.

He doesn't, as most of the crew, head for the brothels as soon as their feet touch the solid ground. For someone Gristol-born he likes to believe he knows the city rather well and he lets himself wander aimlessly past the wide, open squares, down the narrow shadowed alleys, buying the exotic fruits from merchant stalls. 

At dusk he heads to the tavern whose owner has become something resembling a friend over the years, where the drinks are cheap and strong and the food is the best he's ever had, where he can enjoy the lively company of travelers and locals, and should he grow tired of them, well. There are few cleaner places he knows as well, for softer pleasures, because he might be getting old but he is not made of stone, and women of Serkonos have always been lovely in his eyes, with their dark skin and darker eyes.

i.

For some years now he has had trouble sleeping in normal beds and dawn finds him sitting on an empty beach, gazing at the sea. The damp chill air makes his joints faintly ache and he thinks, _it's time to retire, soon, perhaps._

He is not in hurry to get back in town; the ship doesn't leave for few more days. As of late he is starting to appreciate the time he gets to spend all by himself.

At noon he finds a boy sitting by the well.

i.

A soldier of some kind, judging by the uniform, a gun, a sword, though he looks very young. But there is something about him.

The graceless splay of his limbs as he sits on the cold stone, trying to find some relief from the heat, perhaps. The fond smile on his face as he watches some children play in the nearby shade. Dark curls that fall to his shoulders.

Samuel has been a sailor for a long time, and he is not blind to the ways of the men out on the sea, when land is just a distant dream (and with it, women).

The lad turns to look at him, and. Such bright eyes.

 _He's so young,_ he tells himself, and forces his feet to move. To walk by.

He returns later, and later, and later. The boy is nowhere to be found.

i.

He sleeps on the ship that night, tosses and shifts in restless dreams. _Don't be a fool, old man,_ mutters to himself. _Go and find yourself a woman._

i.

He can't help staring when he sees him again – the boy in motion, back straight – the lazy gait as he strolls around the square, down the bigger streets. In patrol, perhaps.

He reminds himself the ship is leaving in four days. He will be gone soon, and it is unlikely he will ever go back. As soon as he is back on the sea, he will forget the boy, and in the meantime, there is no harm in looking.

i.

He busies himself on the ship; there never is a shortage of tasks and chores to perform. Takes over a guard shift.

_Get yourself together, old man. Don't chase after young boys._

i.

Two days before they leave the boy comes to him. At first he doesn't believe his eyes – in the almost complete dark of the empty cabin the boy looks more dream than flesh; wouldn't be the first dream that started that way.

And then come his questions; how did he get here, where are the guards? (Oblivious, half drunk, on bow and the stern and a place or two in between; none of them saw a thing, but he doesn't know it as of yet.)

What does he want?

And the boy shrugs and moves forward and a heartbeat later he is making himself comfortable astride Samuel's hips.

i.

Under Samuel's fingers there are more scars than the boy's age would imply ( _don't think of his years, old man_ ). A street urchin, or bastard son perhaps – hasn't had an easy life, it seems.

Hasn't uttered a single word yet, either, though his gasps sound obscenely loud in the cabin. Samuel finds he doesn't mind.

He tries to be gentle, and mostly he is but. Well. It feels as if he has been waiting for such a long time.

(Only three days)

The boy will leave later, so very silent, as if he never at all came. Samuel will wonder. But he will bear bruises and teeth marks as well.

So. Not a dream, then.

i.

The next day he ventures to the town again. Looks for a curly hair and familiar uniform. It's the boy who finds him again.

He follows where the other leads, step-two behind, through unfamiliar streets, worse parts of town. The apartment they end up in is small, filled with only bare necessities. But there is a bed. And the boy smiles.

Looks at him with such bright bright eyes.

His scars look pale on his dark skin; his body glistens with sweat in fading sunlight filtering through the tiny window.

He has yet to say a word. Samuel suspects he can't.

But he makes such sweet sounds still, long past the sunset, long into the night.

i.

He almost doesn't make it to the ship when it finally departs, and part of him doesn't want to. But his life is there, at the sea, and not in the bed of such a young pretty thing and. Well. He can live with few more regrets, he tells himself.

 _The name is Samuel,_ he says on impulse. _Samuel Beechworth. If you ever find yourself in Dunwall and need a friend._

i.

There are rumors later that year, a scandal in the Court. Some nobody lad of Serkonos, a diplomatic gift – suddenly a Royal Protector of Lady Jessamine.

Samuel never pays such gossips much heed. The years will pass and he will retire, say farewell to the sea. And go to the river.

Until the plague starts, and the Empress dies, and at last Admiral Havelock finds him.

_i._

_Corvo, over here! Quickly. I'm a friend._

i.

It's almost embarrassing how long it takes him to realise; he'd thought the man's silence a consequence of whatever torture they put him through, at Coldridge. The intense gaze mistrustful; who could blame him for that, as well?

He thought him just another Serkonan.

There are so many more scars under his fingers when the man who was that boy so long ago comes to him in the dark again - but the old ones - he remembers them well.


End file.
